


War Child

by AgeOfAlejandro



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, graphic violence against and by children, mention of non con, metions of past suicide, non graphic murder of a child, use of children in war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgeOfAlejandro/pseuds/AgeOfAlejandro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  "There's a little more to it," Jim say with a tight smile. "There were child soldiers. Lots of us."  Leonard pauses and sits up. "Oh."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**War Child 1/3**_  
 **Title:** War Child  
 **Author:**[](http://ageofalejandro.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ageofalejandro**](http://ageofalejandro.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Genre:** horror, tragedy, h/c, and, uh, humor in places...  
 **Warnings:** graphic violence against and by children, drug consumption by children, graphic murder (of adults and semi-non-graphically children), mentions of past suicides, disturbing content relating to the use of children in war.  
 **Summary:**   "There's a little more to it," Jim say with a tight smile. "There were child soldiers. Lots of us."  Leonard pauses and sits up. "Oh."  
 **A/n:** For [](http://knune.livejournal.com/profile)[**knune**](http://knune.livejournal.com/) 's request on my ficlet meme. She asked for something that would make her cry without killing either of the guys and liked this idea when I trotted it out. So yeah. [Title flat out stolen from a charity by the same name](http://www.warchild.org).

  
Jim is tense. He hasn't had to share a room with anyone since Sam killed himself all those years ago and the guy in charge of assigning rooms will not listen. Not that Jim can think of an excuse that won't end his career here before it begins.  
He can't believe he didn't think of this before he joined up.

The man ceases to just look bored and is verging on irritated. "Look, you're just gonna have to share a room. Get used to it. You'll be bunking with roommates most, if not all of your ca--."  
Jim clenches his fist and stalks away wordlessly.

It's not that his nightmares are every night, or even every week. But they do happen and they're sometimes violent and there are very few true signs that he's going to have a bad night. Even being tense and angry like this before bed is not an absolute.

  
When he arrives at what will be his room, he stabs the passcode into the keypad and hopes to god that his roommate is someone who won't ask awkward questions. As the door slides open with a pneumatic hiss, Jim takes a deep breath and tries to convince his shoulders to relax before stepping through the entryway.

His roommate looks up at him from the top of a PADD and arches an eyebrow. "Kirk," he greets.

"McCoy," Jim says in return, not entirely surprised and dropping his jacket on the floor. He barely resists the urge to throw himself on the bed. There goes his hope that there will be no awkward "so what are those nightmares about?" questions, because doctors _always_ ask things like that. He ponders getting it out of the way and just telling McCoy, but decides against it; no need to get funny looks from the man before he has to.  
"I need a drink," Jim says instead. He can't afford to drink until he passes out tonight, but he'll be damned if he'll go to bed booze free after today. The ridiculous, seemingly endless paper work and then the shouldn't-be-a-surprise-but-still-infuriating discovery that he'll have to share a room mean a risky night. He supposes he'll just have to learn to get by on no sleep.

"Me, too," McCoy agrees. "Let's go." He unfolds his lanky body from the oddly curled up position he had been sitting in and stretches, sighing when a couple bones pop.

Jim looks at McCoy, nonplussed for a moment before he decides that sharing with him won't be too bad. Jim grins at him. "Sounds good," he says, reaching for his jacket again. "Where to?"

McCoy pulls out his comm and taps away at it for a little bit before answering, "Mike's, which isn't too far from here. Decent booze, decent service, and cheap, or so says Yelp."

"Excellent," says Jim with a nod and they head out.

  
The next morning, Jim blinks awake, unaware he had even fallen asleep. He sits up slowly, squinting around the annoyingly bright room, and spots a McCoy-shaped lump on the bed across the room. Jim's bedclothes are no more twisted around his body than normal, so it looks like he had a good night. Winding down with McCoy last night must've helped, he decides. Jim lets out a sigh and flops back for a moment before rolling out of bed properly. He stretches, enjoying the pleasant pull of muscle and tendon before realizing he doesn't actually have any clothes but for yesterday's.

He doesn't recall McCoy having a bag that might contain clothing, either, so at least he's not alone in that.

Jim glances at the chronometer and decides that seven is an acceptable time to wake the doctor up and drag him around for the day. He concluded last night that McCoy is, in fact, a really awesome guy under the snarly facade. It helps that he's hotter than hell, too, but mostly, Jim like McCoy for himself.

He dresses, throwing himself under the sonics in his shirt and jeans for a moment, before crossing the room to shake McCoy's shoulder. "Up and at 'em, Sunshine! We've got places to be today, man, and all the good and-slash-or mostly edible food'll be gone from the mess if we don't get moving."

McCoy makes some sort of grunty noise in response and pulls the comforter over his head before settling back down with a snuffle. Jim sighs and shakes his shoulder harder through the blanket. "Cm'on, man. Let's go!" He yanks on the comforter.

The doctor groans in irritation. "Go 'way," he grumbles, fighting with Jim for the blanket one-handedly. "Tryin' to sleep."

"Yeah, I got that," Jim says amicably. "But seriously. Breakfast. Let's go."

"Go by y'rself," McCoy growls, curling an arm around his pillow and finally pulling the blanket out of Jim's hands altogether.

"But I want you to come," Jim replies, giving up in defeat and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Go'way," McCoy repeats with feeling, scrunching his eyes closed.

Jim heaves an unjustly put upon sigh and grins when annoyed and narrowed eyes snap open to peer at him over the edge of the comforter. "How about this? I bring you breakfast and you get up. Then we go get shit done."

"I don't remember agreeing to be a 'we', Kirk," McCoy replies, his increasingly awake voice heavy with annoyance. "Why do you need me anyway?"

"I don't," Jim replies. "But I like you and we can keep each other entertained. Let's face it, you need someone to bitch to and I want someone to mock everyone else with. It's a perfect way to get through the inevitable, annoying, and unnecessarily complicated process of getting classes and all that shit organized."

"You make it sound so appealing. Why, I just want to jump up and spend the entire day at your side, just for your sparkling humor," McCoy deadpans.

"Hey, you're gonna have to do it anyway," Jim points out. "At least this way you have a totally willing ear."

"Willing?" McCoy asks, pushing himself up on his elbows and giving Jim a delicious view of his upper chest as the comforter falls away. "No one is ever willing."

"Au cotraire," Jim says, dragging his attention away from the view. "You're funny and are usually, from all appearances so far, right. I'm completely willing to listen."

"You say that now," McCoy replies dryly. "If you want me to get up, you go get that breakfast you promised me. Fruit, scrambled eggs, and grits if they've got 'em."

"Duly noted," Jim says. "Coffee? You seem like a coffee man."

"I'd prefer to pick some up off campus, where I can get the real stuff," McCoy answers.

"Sounds good," Jim says with a nod and stands up. "Be back soon."

  
Leonard shifts and stretches, before resting back on his pillow. Even though the guy is obviously trouble on two feet, he likes Kirk - he's funny, cheerfully snarky, and too smart by the half. There's also something...a little bit off, perhaps, about him. Not in a way that creeps Leonard out or makes him concerned, but there's a story behind those eyes. What precisely that story _is_ , he doesn't know, and doesn't know if he ever will. Everyone has their secrets, he thinks a little bitterly, and it's not his place to push Kirk on the matter, especially when they barely know each other.

After about twenty minutes, he decides he ought to get up and ambles toward the shower, realizing along the way that every item of clothing he owns (all...six of them, counting each sock) are dirty. He wrinkles his nose and sighs, wondering when everything went so far to hell he doesn't even have clean clothing. The sonics should deal with the worst of the dirt at least, even if it's not really the same as actually washing so far as Leonard's concerned.

By the time he's shaved off the scruff he's accumulated the last couple days, combed his hair, and deemed himself semi-presentable, Kirk has returned with a tray laden with enough food for three people. "I didn't know what kind of fruit you like," he says the moment he comes through the door, "so I grabbed a little bit of everything."

And so he has. Cantaloupe, four kinds of grapes, peaches, and a whole host of others. God bless California and its fields, Leonard thinks as Kirk evades his attempt to grab one of the peaches.

"Hang on there, pardner," Kirk says in an awful imitation of his own drawl. "Lemme put it down first a'fore yew get yer mitts all over the food."

Leonard is almost offended. "Georgia deserves better than your half-Texas, all-bad attempt."

Kirk rests the tray on the desk with a grin and, in a perfect accent, says, "Why, I'm sorry to have upset you."

"I hate you," Leonard replies.

"Even though I brought you food?" Kirk asks, a hurt puppy dog look on his face. He hands Leonard a peach as an apology.

Leonard looks at Kirk for a long moment and then the man grins. "I'm not mollified by food, Kirk," Leonard growls before letting a smirk through when his companion starts looking a little alarmed, teasing right back.

Kirk flashes him a smile that looks a little bit relieved. "Call me Jim," he says, dropping into the chair, leaving Leonard to perch on the edge of desk.

Leonard bites into the fruit. It's not a Georgia peach, but still pretty good he decides, licking his lips and nodding. "Leonard, " he replies easily.

Jim tilts his head at Leonard and then announces, "Bones."

"What? Where the hell did that come from?"

"I'm going to call you 'Bones'." Jim tilts his head up imperiously and grins again. "Much better than Leonard."

"I like my name," Leonard says, a little bit surprised that Jim thinks he can unilaterally rename someone.

"It makes you sound like a stuffy old twentieth century man, who wore sweater vests and socks with his sandals," Jim replies. "It's the twenty-third century, Bones, and I'm not sure there ever was a time that sweater vests were acceptable gear."

Leonard does have to acknowledge it as being a little bit true. He was named after a great something odd uncle on his mother's side who did in fact wear sweater vests. "Still. Not my name." He doesn't know about the socks and sandals thing, though.

"You'll answer to it eventually," Jim says with total certainty. "Now eat so we can go. Also, coffee."

"Yes, mother," Leonard rolls his eyes and contemplates finishing his breakfast extra slowly for spite, but suspects Jim will badger him into hurrying up and the promise of coffee is alluring. He finishes off the peach and grabs the rest of what he asked for, listening with half an ear to Jim as he rattles on about all the classes he's going to try to test out of (Leonard is skeptical of his ability to do so, but whatever).

Eventually, Leonard has had his fill of eggs and grits, and they head out for the day. He pulls out his comm again and checks reviews of local coffee houses. There's one not too far from the academy and it sounds pretty good, so they head there.

Jim blinks at him when Leonard dumps seven packets of raw sugar in his coffee and drowns it in heavy cream. "If you ever, ever bitch at me for the way I eat, I will remind you of this day. I thought doctors were all about healthy food."

"This and bourbon are my indulgences," Leonard says. "And I don't even drink my coffee like this everyday - just when I'm expecting to want to stab myself to get out of something."

"Ah," Jim says in reply, still looking skeptical. "And with you, I bet that's at least five days a week."

Leonard rolls his eyes. "Hardly. Last time was a little before Christmas. My ex threw a party, filled with her boring coworkers and several of the sharks she calls friends and family, and I had to be there," he grouses.

"Evil ex, huh?" Jim asks sympathetically. "Been there."

Sighing, Leonard reaches for a stirring stick and swirls it around in his coffee. "Not evil. Just petty when she's angry, which was an awful lot toward the end. Not that I was any better, in my own way. We have a daughter, Joanna, and it'll be a while before we can really deal with each other, but I think we'll get there eventually. Though I can't stand like half her family," he says with a shrug. "They aren't mine anymore, so I suppose it doesn't matter much."

Jim nods. "That's better than my ex, certainly. He was just nuts." He tilts his head curiously. "How old's the kid?"

"Jo? She's six. Smartest little girl ever." Leonard takes a sip and smiles. "Which reminds me, I gotta call her tonight."

Something in Jim's face eases a little when Leonard says that and he files it away as a curiosity to wonder about later. "You might be a little biased there, Bones," he says with a warm smile.

"Maybe," Leonard nods, ignoring the nickname. "What about you? Got any kids, Jim?"

"Nope," the blond says with a shrug. "Wanna get going?" he asks, tilting his head toward the door.

Leonard nods and takes another sip of coffee as they head out of the shop.

  
Leonard ultimately decides he's glad he came with Jim. There is so much to bitch about and Jim is an excellent ear, apparently appreciating it and replying with equal sarcasm.

"I mean, christ," he says, "if I weren't so certain most people are dumber than a box of rocks, I'd start to think this," he gestures at the umpteenth PADD he's had to sign in the last three hours, "was all purposeful. That there is someone out there takes great joy in making things as complicated and stupid as possible, and gets _paid_ to do so."

"It's ridiculous," Jim agrees, signing what has to be the hundredth document. He stops and stares at the machine, flicking between a couple of them. "They made signing up easy, but once you do that, everything's gotta be complicated." He sighs. "I'll be back soon. Apparently there's something that I have to go get from another department. And oh, hey," he says when he stands and tucks the PADD under his arm. "Gimme your comm for a second. I should give you my frequency so you can get a hold of me if needed."

"All right," Leonard says and digs into his pocket. He hands it over and watches as Jim taps the number in. He gives it back before pulling out his own and text appears on Leonard's screen shortly after.

"There we go," he replies. "All set. See you sometime before we die of old age."

"See ya," Leonard says as Jim heads off.

  
It's a good hour before Leonard sees him again, and he's not the same Jim who sauntered away before. He looks unnaturally stiff and his eyes are a little blank, whereas until this point, he had been relaxed and lively. Leonard puts down his PADD and starts to stand up. "You all right?" he asks cautiously.

Jim nods. "Yeah, just had a surprise, is all."

Leonard's not entirely sure Jim's actually seeing him or if he's looking right though him. It's an abrupt turn around from the cheerful, sarcastic man he had snarked with before, and it makes Leonard worried. Granted, he has a tendency to worry about everything, but Jim is totally deserving of that concern. He also doesn't quite know what do about it. There's something Jim isn't telling him, and based on his reaction to whatever the 'surprise' was, Leonard understands why at least abstractly. "All right," he says. "Want to get dinner when we're done?"

"Sure," Jim says, actually focusing on Leonard this time. "Chinese?"

Leonard nods and they settle into an uneasy silence to complete their paperwork.

 _"You have to shoot her," the commander says coolly, looking between Jim and a frightened Jackie. "Kill her, or she kills you."_

 _Jim shakes his head emphatically. "No," he says, trying to back away even though he's surrounded by a press of soldiers."I won't!"_

 _"Shoot her," the man repeats and reaches down to the phaser Jim's holding loosely. He flicks the switch to kill with his thumb, aims, and very slowly begins to squeeze Jim's hand on the trigger, easily overpowering the resistance Jim gives, squirming and thrashing in his attempt to get away. And then the phaser fires, killing Jackie. Jim begins to cry as his friend slowly, almost ponderously falls to the ground, her long black hair a sprawling mess around her head._

 _A backhanded slap sends him to the ground and swift kick the ribs knocks the air from his lungs. "No crying," the commander says tersely. "No crying if you want to live."_

 _Jim cries anyway, unable to stop even as he's kicked again. There's a pause and he looks up as a wide-eyed Sam is forced to take up where the commander left off, urged to kick harder until Jim can't draw breath enough to sob._

This dream never makes him scream or strike out, and as he wakes up, he can feel the hot tears soaking the pillow beneath his head and his hands are clenched to tightly around the blankets it hurts. He takes a slow breath, ignoring how sticky his mouth feels and closes his eyes before opening them again. Bones is sitting halfway up in his bed and looking at him with concern in the low light. Jim supposes he must have made some sort of noise and he gives Bones something he hope approximates a smile. "Shitty dream, 's all," he says thickly. "Don't worry about it."

Bones purses his lips and studies Jim for a moment, but eventually he lies back down and the room goes silent. They both know the other is awake, long after the dream ends, and Jim presses his face into the pillow before rolling over. He throws his forearm over his eyes and resists the urge to sigh or get out of bed and go find himself some distracting trouble. Jim inhales slowly, almost silently, a trick he'd mastered back on Tarsus to hide or control his distress. He'd never been able to stuff his emotions down like Sam had learned to eventually, for all the good it did his brother. Instead, medacem had been his savior, allowing him to dissociate himself from every murder he was ordered to commit. It had been fortunate for Jim that the drug had been freely given, otherwise he might have done what Alfie did and committed suicide by officer. Alfie had known his death wouldn't be quick or merciful, but he'd done it anyway because he couldn't take it anymore. Sometimes Jm wishes his fourteen year old self had been that brave.

They lie silent and awake until the sun rises, exchanging soft greetings in the blue light of a false dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim acts like nothing happened last night and Leonard frowns. Whatever it was, it wasn't nothing, and he damn well knows it was connected to whatever turned Jim into a ghost yesterday. Instead of paying attention to the lecture he's supposed to listening to (he skipped the class the lecturer is talking about by virtue of already being a doctor, so why is zhi yammering about it still?), he ponders Jim, turning what little he knows about the other man over in his mind. That story behind Jim's eyes? Definitely something traumatic. Leonard wishes he knew what the trigger had been yesterday, but he'll just have to watch and learn.

 

And so it goes. For several nights in a row, Jim wakes him up with nightmares, making tiny noises of heart breaking distress and then they lie awake the rest of the night; Leonard can't sleep when someone is in pain and Jim is simply unable to do so. During the day, Jim is stilted and when he thinks no one is looking, he looks grey and exhausted. It almost hurts to look at.

Leonard is anxious about the upcoming weekend. On one hand, it could be good and help Jim get out this...whatever it is. On the other, it could fuck everything up further. He doesn't know which is more likely than the other, but he invites Jim out to a bar anyway and after he hems and haws about it, Jim accepts.

 

There's something about Bones that is oddly soothing. The man is still a little wild-eyed sometimes and exudes loathing of everything around him occasionally, but while he's quietly concerned about Jim (Jim finds it kind of sweet that he's already concerned, but doesn't really know what to do with it), he hasn't hovered or pushed for answers. He gives Jim space and has so far accepted it when all Jim has wanted was silence.

Which is the reason he accepts Bones's invitation to go to Mike's again, despite what his common sense tells him (which is that this going much too fast and he should back off so Bones doesn't get too close. But Jim realized how fucked up his sense of 'common sense' is a few years ago, so he frequently ignores it, at least when it comes to relationships with other people.)  
He just hopes he can be the kind of company Bones deserves tonight.

 

And he is, for a while. Then he sees a man he's sure was his officer as a child.

 

Jim is two or three drinks in and is relatively relaxed, slouching with his feet kicked up on the booth seat (almost in Leonard's lap, actually). He is almost back to the self Leonard had met the first night; his smiles were more real and his eyes a bit brighter, a little more like he was living in the present. He's been scanning the room regularly all night, and Leonard initially thinks he's on the hunt for tail, in addition to spending some time relaxing with a couple drinks. But soon he notices the way Jim does it. It's methodical and dispassionate, and looks like he's doing out of habit more than interest in getting laid. That thought joins the others he's been mulling over about Jim, filed away for later contemplation.

Then Jim stiffens, as if someone had injected his veins with ice, and shrinks back against the cushions. His eyes are wide and when Leonard takes a quick glance at the rest of the patrons, he sees a very large, broad-shouldered bear of a man, leaning idly against the bar. Jim's breathing quickens and his eyes go dim and distant in the low light.

"Jim," Leonard calls to him. "Jim, you all right?" When he doesn't answer, Leonard shakes his foot gently. "Earth to Jim."

The man jumps a foot in the air and shoves the table hard enough that the metal base creaks loudly, dumping Leonard's drink in his lap. Jim throws himself out of the booth and bolts, pushing his way through the crowd toward the back of the bar. Leonard scrambles to follow, but by the time he gets to the back of the bar, Jim has disappeared into the cool September night.

 

Jim avoids Bones as much as it is ever possible to avoid one's roommate for the next two weeks, giving him a lopsided smile when their eyes meet. Bones always looks like he's going to say something but doesn't. Instead he chooses to greet Jim like nothing is wrong, even though they both know something very much is. Jim is fully aware he's still waking Bones up with his dreams, which are getting worse. It's not Jackie dying anymore.

_"Here." The commander pushed a knife into Jim's hands. It was large, something akin to a machete, but with a pointed hook and a sawtooth edge._

_Jim, high on medacem, blinked at him. "Orders?"_

_"In the town, there will be a large house near the central square - t'awh garden, a big fence, the works. You and the others are to get into it and kill all the males," the commander replied. "ALL of them."_

_He didn't really remember the trek to the house and had only vague recollections of climbing over the fence. But he did remembered slitting the throat of the father, the spray of blood as the saw-tooth edge bit into his jugular and his terrible, wide eyes, staring in shock as Jim wiped the blade and his slippery hands on the man's clean sleeve. Memories of killing the infant were even clearer, the agonized squeal of pain when he--_

"Jim!"

Someone is shaking him and he comes up swinging, still trapped in that house, and there's a cry and a crash. Jim's mind clears and he finds Bones at his feet, looking at him with shock and hurt, his jaw already reddening where Jim has evidently punched him. Closing his eyes, Jim takes a deep breath and mutters, "Sorry," before kneeling down near Bones, as close as he can bear. "Do you want me to get your kit?" When Bones nods, he gets up to rummage through the stuff on the desk and giving it to the doctor. He perches on the edge of his bed while Bones scans himself, utterly mortified and deeply sorry. He probably should have told Bones not to wake him up if he's dreaming, but he didn't and now has to deal with the fallout.  
"I'll start the paperwork to transfer rooms in the morning," Jim says, unable to meet Bones's eyes.

Jim can see Bones rubbing his jaw and frowning out of the corner of his eye. "No," he says as best he can around the injury. "Don't. I should have known better than to try to wake you up. It just seemed so much worse than usual and I couldn't quite help myself."

"It was," Jim agrees, and he bites his lip, upset and nervous. "Are you sure, Bones? I won't be hurt if you really do want one."

"I don't," he says firmly. "I'm not mad, Jim, and I'd rather room with a friend than a stranger."

"Even when he has PTSD and hits you in his sleep?" Jim asks hesitantly.

"Even then," Bones assures him as he fishes through his kit for something. "I really ought to have known better," he grumbles, mostly to himself Jim suspects, and he pulls out a hypo, dosing himself with something. "I was pretty sure it was something like that, even though I wasn't about to diagnose you, but I am a damn doctor." Bones reaches out, settling a hand on Jim's knee. "I'm not going to demand that you give me the story, Jim, but I would like to know someday. Tell me when you're ready?"

Jim bites his lip again. Bones has been a very good friend in the short time they've known each other, humoring Jim's moods and he hasn't asked awkward questions. He isn't demanding answers, either, which was good. Jim rests his hand on top of Bones's and nods.

 

The dreams mostly subside over the next few weeks as Jim relaxes and Bones continues to treat him like he had before, with a mixture of irritation, grumpy affection, and occasional incredulity at what Jim can get away with. He never mentions the night Jim had struck out (which Jim begins to think of as That Night) and never even hints at the promise Jim made to someday tell him about Tarsus.

 

As time rolls on, Jim begins to trust him. Oh, he'd trusted Bones with medical stuff the moment after That Night when he'd treated Jim just as he always had, but eventually he trusts him to watch his back and take care of him when he needs it (which isn't very often, but still sometimes happens). He starts to trust him with his secrets, too. Little ones, but still things he doesn't like to talk about and he has to get pretty wasted to do so.

It's one of those wasted nights in February that Jim, on a drunken whim, kisses Bones, who is much less wasted than Jim is but kisses back briefly before pushing him away gently. "Not when you're shitfaced, Jim."

"But when I'm not shhitfashed?" Jim slurs, giving Bones his best drunk leer.

"You can try again," Bones says absently, looking unhappily at the empty bourbon bottle. "You drank all my booze!"

"We drank all your booshe," Jim corrects happily.

 

The next day was a good one. Jim would always look back on it with a smirk and a smile and Bones would roll his eyes and mutter something about an "incorrigible man-child".


	3. Chapter 3

It's the spring semester of their second year and Leonard is wishing he had taken modern Federation history earlier, or perhaps that he had refrained from taking multiple depressing classes at once. Either way would have been better than the mess that is his schedule this spring.  
Leaning back in the chair in their room, Leonard shakes his head. "And we're about to cover the Tarsus genocide. Always hated that in school and I don't imagine I'll like it any better now." Eugenics. So much death caused by a flawed, crock of shit theory.  
  
Jim's chuckle is oddly high and he swallows, his eyes skittering away from Leonard's scrutiny to stare at the setting sun over the bay. There is something definitely wrong here. "It wasn't a genocide."  
  
"What as it, then?" Leonard asks, equal parts skeptical and concerned by Jim's behavior.  
  
"Civil war," Jim says with a falsely casual shrug, settling down on the corner of their desk.  
  
"There's no reason to hide that, Jim," Leonard replies, uncertain as to why he looks like he might shatter at the lightest touch.  
  
"There's a little more to it," Jim say with a tight smile. "There were child soldiers. Lots of us."  
  
Leonard pauses and sits up. "Oh."  
  
"This is that story, Bones. Remember the one I promised to tell you last year?" Jim says, looking out at the water again. "I was a soldier in the forests around the capital. The war started when I was ten, I was drafted at eleven, and rescued at thirteen. They lie about it because they don't want to deal with the fact that the war had been raging for three years by the time they got around to doing anything about it." He looks back at Leonard, eyes wide and solemn. "About the only fact in the Tarsus story is the death toll - it really did kill half the colony."  
  
Wanting to reach out but uncertain if it would be the right thing, Leonard resists the urge to sit on his hands and simply nods instead. What is there to say? _'Goodness, Jim, I'm ever to sorry to hear that you were forced to kill people before your voice had cracked'_? No. Better to remain silent and be there than to open his big mouth and say the wrong thing. Leonard sees Jim gnawing on his lip and looking uncertain, and he gives into the urge to reaching out, resting a hand on Jim's hip, gazing up at him as he rubs his thumb over the crest of bone that rests just below the fabric of Jim's jeans.  
  
After a breath's silence, Jim spills the story, rapid fire and barely pausing for breath as he tells Leonard about the day he was 'drafted'.  
  
"They - the rebells fighting Kodos - killed my uncle and made my brother and me watch as they raped my aunt - we got lucky; neither of us were forced to rape her ourselves, like what happened in other places. And then Sam, my brother, and I were ordered to kill our closest friends..."  
  
The story goes on and on and Leonard is aghast at what Jim had been forced to do, and the conditioning he describes that made it possible makes him feel physically ill (Jackie's death and his beating at the hands of his brother are merely a drop in a drug-filled, bloody ocean). Eventually, he can't help it and Leonard stands to wrap Jim in a hug, clutching him close even as the heartbreaking monologue continues. Jim doesn't respond in kind, but does lean into the touch, mumbling words into Leonard's neck.  
  
Eventually, there is silence and a hand slides up his jaw, gently guiding him back so Jim can meet his eyes and he looks surprised. "It's all right, Bones."  
  
Leonard wants to say _no, it's not all right!_ , because it isn't, but that's probably the wrong thing to say. He settles for pulling Jim close, aware of and ignoring Jim's bewilderment as the man returns the gesture. He leans back and studies Jim's face for a long while, smiling when Jim raises one eyebrow, then the other at him.  
  
"Are you looking for something in particular, there?" Jim asks, looking increasingly uneasy.  
  
"Sorry," Leonard says, a little sheepishly. "I don't really know what to say, is all."  
  
Jim nods his understanding. "It is a little much to take in," he agrees, looking out the window again.  
  
There's nothing to really say to that, so he settles on squeezing Jim's bicep supportively and kissing his cheek before stepping away to give Jim some space.  
  
  
  
Bones's expression is sad, but he doesn't look at Jim like he thinks he's broken or a monster for the things he did. Instead, he squeezes Jim's arm, kisses his cheek, and goes to sit on the love seat they'd managed to jam into their room, picking up a PADD on the way. When Bones feels the weight of Jim's stare, he merely looks up over the machine and cocks a questioning eyebrow.  
Jim doesn't know what to say anymore than Bones probably did just a minute ago, because it's so terribly unusual in his experience. But, he decides, that this is not a bad thing and curls up on the love seat next to Bones to stare out the window some more.


End file.
